uggesting the first figure of a quadrille, the lawyer
thought several times, "What a fool!"

After the third course Lysevitch said, turning to Anna Akimovna:

"The _fin de siecle_ woman--I mean when she is young, and of
course wealthy--must be independent, clever, elegant, intellectual,
bold, and a little depraved. Depraved within limits, a little; for
excess, you know, is wearisome. You ought not to vegetate, my dear;
you ought not to live like every one else, but to get the full
savour of life, and a slight flavour of depravity is the sauce of
life. Revel among flowers of intoxicating fragrance, breathe the
perfume of musk, eat hashish, and best of all, love, love, love
. . . . To begin with, in your place I would set up seven lovers--one
for each day of the week; and one I would call Monday, one Tuesday,
the third Wednesday, and so on, so that each might know his day."

This conversation troubled Anna Akimovna; she ate nothing and only
drank a glass of wine.

"Let me speak at last," she said. "For myself personally, I can't
conceive of love without family life. I am lonely, lonely as the
moon in the sky, and a waning moon, too; and whatever you may say,
I am convinced, I feel that this waning can only be restored by
love in its ordinary sense. It seems to me that such love would
define my duties, my work, make clear my conception of life. I want
from love peace of soul, tranquillity; I want the very opposite of
musk, and spiritualism, and _fin de siecle_ . . . in short"--she
grew embarrassed--"a husband and children."

"You want to be married? Well, you can do that, too," Lysevitch
assented. "You ought to have all experiences: marriage, and jealousy,
and the sweetness of the first infidelity, and even children. . . .
But make haste and live--make haste, my dear: time is passing;
it won't wait."

"Yes, I'll go and get married!" she said, looking angrily at his
well-fed, satisfied face. "I will marry in the simplest, most
ordinary way and be radiant with happiness. And, would you believe
it, I will marry some plain working man, some mechanic or draughtsman."

"There is no harm in that, either. The Duchess Josiana loved Gwinplin,
and that was permissible for her because she was a grand duchess.
Everything is permissible for you, too, because you are an exceptional
woman: if, my dear, you want to love a negro or an Arab, don't
scruple; send for a negro. Don't deny yourself anything. You ought
to be as bold as yo